


The Son of Atlas

by tarachamblers



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9072706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarachamblers/pseuds/tarachamblers
Summary: Negan left Alexandria with a promise to return soon to collect his bounties. Rick and Aaron embark upon a risky and unplanned supply trek to safeguard their loved ones. Typical with being outside the walls, their experiences get a little dangerous. Little are either aware that the true danger is within the gates and on Rick's shoulders.





	

Across the horizon, most of the bleeding sun had dipped beneath the treeline, taking with it the scorching heat of summer. Tucked beneath the oppressive umbrage, the two companions stood contemplatively behind a derelict vehicle.

Stars sparkled faintly through the hazy wash of the sky above. Though only dusk, plentiful shining spots glittered like guiding lights. The moon chipped away at the clouds, growing only more vivid with the passage of time. Their faces were bathed with her harsh lustre, exact and unsympathetic.

The tiny bumps that erupted across Rick’s exposed forearms forboded the assault of the wind, cutting through him like a katana. It whistled, sadistic like a fascist, as it forced he and Aaron to suffer its wrath. The two glanced at each other, locked in silent and exhausted debate.

“Rick,” Aaron began, his voice weighted with fatigue and melancholy, “We could go another ten miles before finding another safe spot to sleep.” Weathered as the desert across his eyes, his argument was truly nothing more than a cloaked beg. Another hour, perhaps a sob.

“We have today…” Rick said, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes were locked, permanently glacial. He carried the strain of the world upon his back, pushing down onto his exhausted heart, “And only today.”

“I know.”

Disarmed, Rick turned to face him. He looked for any tell in Aaron that he thought that his leader -- his friend -- was accepting defeat: his quivering lips, flushed ears, desperate breath. Aaron had not dropped an ounce of integrity since they’d first met what felt like ten million years ago.

“Okay.”

“I got it.” said Aaron. He quickly took a step forward, grasping the dull handle central of the metal doors. Simultaneously, Rick hastily reached for it too.

Both extremities collided atop the bar and despite their quick movements, the two stood frozen like the temperament of the wind. Between their hands, warmth thawed the desolation within them minutely and Rick felt the icy moisture in his eyes melt into real tears, budding on his bottom eyelid as perfect as pearls.

“Nah, I got it.” Aaron said.

***

The cold was truly upon them, in all of its bitter fury. The padding of the faded yellow sleeping bags offered only scraps of protection against the elements. Over the past few hours, sleep had continually drowned them, just to maliciously spit them back out like it was playing a sadistic little game. Aaron’s teeth chattered incessantly, providing the only sound in their tin cage except the wind rattling outside and the torrents of rain beating the roof above.

“Aaron.” Rick said. Aaron opened his eyes and found Rick a few feet away in the darkness, the cover of the sleeping bag jammed up against his chin so not to expose even an inch of bare flesh to the biting air. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” was his mangled reply, cut to pieces by his incisors tapping against each other like the rain against the roof. The temperature was unforgiving, bordering upon painful every time they moved. The bleakness of the situation was all too real; the cold, the dark and their mission collectively crushing Aaron’s chest. He smiled to no one in particular, then joked, “Wish we’d brought some blankets.”

“He took them all.”

Any attempt at brightening the mood would be futile after that, so Aaron attempted to sleep once again. Partially successful, he spent the better part of an hour drifting in and out of consciousness. Heavy-lidded, his eyelashes fluttered against smooth cheeks and he wheezed a little with every breath.

Then, in the way thoughts often do when you are on the verge of falling into a peaceful sleep, something terrible crossed Aaron’s mind. Too brittle and cold to physically startle, his eyes shot open and despite the dark his pupils contracted to a tiny dot.

“Rick.” Aaron said.

Sleepily, Rick responded, “Yeah?”

“What do you think happens if Negan comes back to Alexandria before we do?”

Rick was silent for a while after Aaron finished speaking. The silence slowly added to the bricks upon Aaron’s chest, building up more and more despair that was creeping through him like a parasite. Meanwhile, quiet as a thief and completely unbeknownst to him, Rick slid himself and his sleeping bag along the metal floor so that he was lying less than arms length away from his companion.

“Aaron.” Rick said.

“Yeah?” Aaron replied. This time, he turned to fully face Rick. Though surprised to find him so close, he did not react. The white steam of their breath mingled together in the space between them.

“It won’t,” his voice burned, strapped to a pyre and lit, yet preserved enough to remain certain and honest. “We won’t let that happen.”

Rick reached out for Aaron, braving the cold of the air in the truck without an inkling of pain on his face and placed his calloused hand on his shoulder. His thumb moved back and forth under the collar of his shirt and, even in the dark, Aaron could detect the tears prickling his eyes.

Aaron, too, took one hand from the safety of the sleeping bag. He lay it across Rick’s on his shoulder and squeezed. “I believe you, Rick.” He mirrored the movement with the thumb, spreading across Rick’s slowly healing scuffs and bruises from the night everything went wrong.

“I believe in you, Rick.”

Finally and peacefully sleep took them both. The rain stopped.

***

Water stagnated around their calves as Aaron and Rick furiously and frantically paddled. The boat, if it could even be referred to as such, was riddled with gunshots and slowly sinking into the lake under their combined weight. Above them, the sun split the sky upon a picturesque, harmonic and cloudless blue backdrop. Only the sound of the dead and their panic spoiled the landscape.

Gloopy and bloated corpses attacked from every angle, lunging their arms onto the boat and grasping for the hems of Rick’s clothes. “We’re almost there,” Aaron said in tandem with a downward stroke of his makeshift oar, splashing Rick’s arm with opaque water.

Indeed, they were not far from their milestone: a solid, silver canoe glittering like a gem in the sunlight. Between this and their sinking raft floated a dozen walkers, assembled almost like a ragtag army defending their treasure. Charging Rick, he drove his oar into their chests and pushed them back.

In synchronised sweeps, Aaron and Rick pulled up parallel to the canoe and Aaron dived forward to bridge the two. His hand found purchase on the metal bar that ran between the sides of the boat. He grasped it tightly and pulled with all of his might, jamming his left elbow against the base of their raft to fortify his strength. It slid towards him with ease.

A walker leaped up from beneath some sheets inside the canoe, throwing Aaron backwards in surprise. He yelped and dropped his oar, which fell overboard and began to float out of reach. It bared its teeth, hissing and lunging for those who’d disturbed its slumber. Aaron shuffled backwards, helpless as it grasped at his flannel and the hem of his jeans.

It began to cross the gap between the boats, gripping him tightly. As soon as it was within reach, Rick burst into action. His strong hand gripped the walker around the neck to pull it back from his companion. The walker immediately focused upon Rick, clawing at him like he was its’ last meal on Earth, Aaron only inches away becoming a distant thought.

Rick drove a short knife into the skull of the walker and it stopped short, dead in the water like their raft. He let go of her neck and she collapsed into the water between the boats, splashing and tumbling into the depths. The sudden threat solved as soon as it appeared, both men softened.

Then, two hands grabbed Aaron by the back of his shirt and heaved him overboard into the walker infested waters. He flailed around underneath the water, fighting to the surface and scraping dirt out of his eyes with his blunt nails. All around him, bodies shuffled, forming an inescapable ring that contracted with every passing second. With no weapon, no resources and Rick too far out of his reach to assist, his options rapidly depleted.  
“Hold on!” Rick roared. Aaron spun round on the spot and caught a glimpse through his waterlogged eyes of Rick atop the canoe. The sound diverted a walker or two away from him, but the bulk of the threat remained perilously fixated on him. He splashed away, shouting something unintelligible to Rick before he was, in an instant, yanked beneath the surface and out of sight.

Rick was in shock. “Aaron!” he yelled, his head snapping to every ripple in the water. Panic truly began to set into his bones. With the weight of cement, he moved to the bow of the boat and screamed his companion’s name again, this time with almost tangible fear and desperation. The heat of the sun replicated in his gut, burning through his intestines like a vicious fire. It was terrible.

“I believe in you, Rick.”

He could not have failed him like this. He scanned the small waves, focusing on every indication of something beneath the surface. Only adding to the terror, walkers popped up from beneath the water and added to the disturbed mob shuffling around aimlessly now that their food had vanished from the trap.

Now, there was no heat. Only cold. His fingers and heart turned to ice, though he was in the Arctic. The strands of his hair that were stuck to his forehead with sweat became stalactites, frozen rat tails discarded after the dead enjoyed their main course. He moved back and forth, because he must, because if he didn’t he’d turn to stone in horror.

“Aaron…” he said. Quieter, with less determination and laced with dread instead. Rick moved now to the stern, searching with all of his might for any indication and then --

Aaron broke through the surface of the water, gasping air like it was a gift from God, which to him it may very fucking well have been. As soon as he blinked the water out of his eyes, he found Rick and yelled up to him, “I’m okay! I’m alright!”

Rick’s panic could not be described as shattering because it remained stable and a viable threat to him. Rather, it suddenly became less vibrant because something else had overpowered it: relief, which flooded him like water had the raft, which now lay discarded and empty at the bottom of the murky lake. Despite all of the chaos, a seed of serenity planted itself inside Rick at that very moment and he took a breath that didn’t hitch nor strain.

Aaron took a few seconds to regain his composure and started swimming for the barge. Rick had almost forgotten about their end goal with all of the commotion of getting there. He picked up an oar and paddled as fast he could to get the canoe to line up with the stairs to the barge’s bottom deck. Before he could get there, Aaron pulled himself up a ladder and flopped onto the floor, soaked and boneless.

When Rick reached his destination, he began to climb onto the barge. After everything that had happened in the last minute, Aaron leaned over and stretched out his hand for Rick to grasp. He willingly lent the last of his strength to his companion and as Rick’s fingers curled around Aaron’s, guilt not only overpowered but replaced every minute notion of relief and panic he had in him.

As soon as his body as clear of the canoe, he, too, flopped down. His head rested against Aaron’s strong shoulder. Their ragged breathing was slightly out of time with each other. Both remained perfectly still despite it all. It was as if the emotion filling Rick had been drained from Aaron. He wasn’t relieved, wasn’t scared. He was tired.

The two lay there for longer than they needed to, until the sun warmed their blood and their wet clothes. They became a part of the picturesque landscape. Two partners cloud gazing. All that was missing was the picnic hamper and any inkling of happiness.

***

The female Savior reacted the moment Rick moved towards Aaron, promptly barking, “Back up!” into his face. Her hand moved to her waist and from there, she slammed the business end of a glock into Rick’s jaw.

In front of him, perhaps four paces away, Aaron was being kicked savagely in the abdomen over and over again. At first, the brutal sound accompanied by the beating caused a flinch to reverberate through him; beginning at his eyes, then his lips and all the way down to his shaking knees. It plotted a course and flowed between its’ stations. Electric.

Rick felt himself fighting off every compulsion and instinct to dart forward. To say, “Fuck it,” to the woman holding the gun and risk the inside of his head painting the street. It was not the idea he himself that might die that kept him grounded, it was fleeting memories of Glenn and Abraham he fought to repel. If something like that were to happen again...

He bit his tongue and he waited out Aaron’s beating. He begged, prayed even, that Aaron could survive and hold out for as long as it lasted. Guilt already began to flood into his bones like it water had their boat earlier in the day. Yet, he did not move. He did not take that risk.

Soon Rick’s panic lost some steam and became more subdued. After twenty seconds, if that, Rick stopped flinching when Aaron cried out in agony. The gun in his face may as well have been a million miles away because he no longer saw it. The switch in his head was slowly edged into ‘off’ and his mind went dark.

He saw without seeing. His eyes were not glazed, rather they were focused on Aaron, but something inside his head was instead. None of the kicks against Aaron’s stomach, chest or chin registered in Rick. He stopped reacting. It transitioned into the norm.

Then, something clicked back on. The gun was Negan. All of the Saviors were Negan. The gun in his face was no different to the knife against his family’s jugular when they were out on the road, the trough they were tied up next to at Terminus, the looming threat of the Governor.

Aaron took a boot to the jaw with a nauseating crack.

Their previous adversaries were threats to their lives. Not only in the sense that they could be killed, of course, but they were threats to their lives because they changed who they were. To live, they had to adapt. If Rick and his family hadn’t got themselves out of certain conflicts, they would have become depraved. Worse than walkers.

Some days at the beginning, it was all that kept Rick going. They were still people. At Terminus, to survive they would have had to become cannibals. On the road, they had become walking corpses. To coexist with the Governor, maybe they’d even have devolved to what Negan was right now: a dictator, terrorising the few lives left on Earth for sick laughs and a few supplies.

Two kicks to Aaron’s midsection came simultaneously, one slamming into the small of his back and the other into the centre of his chest. He contorted in two different directions.

To let Negan rule Alexandria, the Hilltop and beyond, to take what he wanted from them, to keep a gun aimed at their heads so whenever they stepped out of his line, it was the end for them--it was not a life worth living.

“Point made.” said the bigger Savior, after delivering one last shattering blow to Aaron’s face. His companion, his friend, was unable to stop the unintelligible flow of agonised groans coming from him. Rick remained frozen, watching as dirt from the street was kicked into Aaron’s face. His blood was cold. The Saviors backed off.

Rick moved forward, kneeling down to support Aaron, looping his arm around Rick’s neck and to help him up. Aaron looked up at him, one eye blackened and swollen to hell, his lips dripping blood from both corners, his nose battered and possibly broken, bruises already beginning to form around the welts and rips on his cheeks.

“My heart’s still beating, right?” he tried to laugh but it came out like another pained cry. Tears mingled with the red blood, making small, wet streaks run down Aaron’s face.

He was wrong. Right now, they were dead. They were all dead, for under Negan’s rule, they were not who they were.

It was in that moment that Rick finally understood, finally knew that Maggie had been right back in the clearing, that the people around him he called family that were no-doubt plotting to kill Negan were right too. There was no life under his tyranny.

But for now, Aaron was still breathing. Rick promised to himself that Aaron would never go through anything like this ever again. He owed him. He owed all of them.

The Son of Atlas took upon himself another burden.


End file.
